


Beauty In Every Breakdown

by MoonRiver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, The Empty Hearse Spoilers, caring Greg, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll never be able to un-see it,” Mycroft whispered. “I’ll never be able to un-hear it. Sherlock is going on, pretending as best as he can like it never happened, but I can’t. I’m not…I’m not okay, Gregory, I’m not.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty In Every Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> So, let go  
> Jump in  
> Oh well, what you waiting for?  
> It's alright  
> 'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown  
> -Frou Frou

No one else got to see Mycroft Holmes like this.

Naked. Exposed.

With one leg tucked underneath the duvet and one curled over it, with his body still slicked with sweat and his auburn hair sticking out in all directions, Mycroft looked, dare he say it, debauched.

A grin spread across Greg’s face at the thought, and he was just reaching for his mobile to capture the moment forever when his lover let out a struggled cry in his sleep. Frowning, Greg gently stroked Mycroft’s arm and held him close.

When Mycroft had confessed a few weeks ago that Sherlock had been alive for the past two years Greg thought their relationship was over. How could he go on loving a man who had lied to him, who stole his trust, betrayed him, and put him and his friends through misery? But then he found out why Sherlock and Mycroft did what they did, and he understood. Mycroft answered as many questions as he could about the _why_ of it all, but exactly what happened during those two years Sherlock spent abroad were still a mystery to him. Whatever happened, it was clearly not easy for either brother. Between Sherlock’s talking to himself and Mycroft’s insomnia he was having a hard time keeping tabs on the Holmes brothers.

He was finally able to lure Mycroft to sleep that night after sex, but it wasn’t an hour later that those cries began. It was painful to watch as his lover tossed and turned in his sleep, calling out his brother’s name while clenching the sheets in his fists. When Mycroft let out a scream, an honest to god scream, Greg decided enough was enough.

“Myc?” Greg called, gently shaking his lover.

It worked; Mycroft shot straight up, breathing hard. He didn’t look at Greg, didn’t even acknowledged that he was in the same bed as him. Instead he threw his hand over his mouth and leapt out of bed. Normally he would have laughed at the sight of Mycroft’s naked arse scurrying across the bedroom, but his chest tightened with panic as he followed him into the bathroom.

Mycroft was hutched over the toilet, sweating even worse than he had been before. His face was white as a ghost, and his hands shook as he reached up to flush the vomit away.

“Sorry to wake you,” Mycroft mumbled.

Ah, of course, natural Holmes instinct: apologise even when you have no reason to be sorry. Quietly, Greg grabbed a flannel and wet it with warm water. He draped it across Mycroft’s forehead, and his lover shivered as he scooted back against the wall. He knew Mycroft hated being so exposed, even if it was just the two of them, so he made a quick dash back to the bedroom and grabbed the first blanket he found, along with a pillow.

“Not in the bathroom,” Mycroft’s hoarse voice protested when Greg presented him with the silky pillow.

“We can wash the sheets,” Greg replied as he leaned down to place the pillow behind Mycroft’s back.

Placing a hand on Mycroft’s back, he began murmuring instructions about taking deep breaths. With frantic nods of the head Mycroft obeyed, and after a few moments his partner seemed to regain control of himself again.

But just as soon as things seemed fine, Mycroft made a frantic dive for the toilet and reached it just in time to be throw up again. Instead of feeling grossed out, Greg he felt nothing at all except for sympathy. He desperately wanted Mycroft to tell him what was going on, but he understood what was at stake. If his boyfriend needed to keep his secrets then he needed to. What mattered most to him was that Mycroft was able to sleep at night without being tortured with nightmares.

This, though, this was the last straw.

He would not just sit by while his lover screamed in his sleep.

He waited until Mycroft was able to breathe again before he helped him sit back against the tub. Holding him close, Greg whispered into his ear:

“Talk to me, love. Please.”

Mycroft let out a few desperate gasps for air and the nodded, signaling he was okay. He ran his hands over his face, through his sweat-drenched air, and buried his head in them for a moment. After a long pause, Mycroft finally drew in a deep breath and looked up again, right into his eyes.

It startled him, seeing those usually warm, yet powerful dark orbs appear so broken.

“As I told you, Sherlock spent the better part of the past two years tracking down the last of Moriarty’s web,” Mycroft began, his voice breaking with defeat. “But he wasn’t just providing information to MI-6, he was working for us.”

Greg’s heart skipped a beat. He knew full well what kind of work Mycroft did for a living, but his partner usually refrained from referring to any of the organisations he consulted with. Although he was fascinated by the power his boyfriend had, he found himself preferring to be left in the dark. He didn’t like to think of Mycroft being involved in dangerous MI-6 missions.

“He was an agent?” Greg whispered.

Mycroft shook his head.

Of course not, he should have known better.

“He was our very own consulting detective,” Mycroft sighed, “but it didn’t take long before he wanted to do more than just consult. Sherlock took matters to his own hands and infiltrated one of our undercover missions in Serbia. He put himself in the middle of the action and it backfired on him. The mission was, to put it lightly, a complete disaster. Sherlock got himself captured.”

“Shit.”

Mycroft’s mouth hung agape for a moment, as though he couldn’t stomach the thought of telling the next part of the story out loud. Greg wrapped an arm around him and let him rest his head on his shoulder.

No, no one ever got to see Mycroft Holmes like this, he thought. Ashamed, guilt-ridded, afraid.

“They held him for fourteen days before we found where he was. My employer was, understandably, furious that the mission had been compromised. A citizen’s life was now at stake, and throughout this entire procedure I had broken more protocols than I can name. Honestly, it’s a wonder I’m not in jail.”

“I wouldn’t let them arrest you,” Greg protested.

“Ah, and I would have far too much on each and every one of them for any of them to dare to turn me in for anything,” Mycroft admitted. “But this…with this I had just gone too far. I put my own brother, my own flesh in blood, in harm’s way. I sacrificed the integrity of a major government counter-terrorism-“

“Counter terrorism?!” He choked.

“And put the safety of this entire nation at risk,” Mycroft finished. He shivered, and Greg pulled the blanket over them both. “It was made clear to me that it was my responsibility to get Sherlock out of there, and quite honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Suddenly, Mycroft went completely still. For a moment Greg though he stopped breathing and grabbed his wrist, just to make sure he could feel his pulse.

“I lost one of my men during the rescue mission,” Mycroft croaked, his voice but a broken whisper. “I knew then that I was the one who would have to get him out. I went undercover in the camp he was taken hostage in. I had to rise through the ranks it and it took…it took more than I knew I had in me.”

“Rise through the ranks?” Greg echoed, his own voice now shrunken to a whisper.

There was a period of time of nearly twenty-one days when he didn’t see Mycroft earlier that year. His partner promised him he had to go abroad on an undercover mission crucial to the country’s security- he just didn’t realise it was _this_ crucial.

And he would have never in a million years dreamed Sherlock would have been involved.

“My role involved…involved,” Mycroft had to stop and take in a deep, painful sounding, breath. “Overseeing the prisoners. I was in charge of…in charge of interrogations. You see Sherlock, Sherlock…he was being interrogated to find out what he knew about our operations in Serbia. But he had gone off on his own. He knew nothing of what MI-6 or anyone else was doing in Serbia.”

Greg found himself growing pale, and it was becoming harder and harder to breathe by the minute. The thought of Sherlock and Mycroft getting themselves mixed up with terrorists…the very idea of Mycroft taking on a mission like that without telling him! On the verge of his own emotional breakdown, Greg was torn between shouting at him and hugging him as tightly as he could and never letting him go.

“As part of my undercover role I had to…I was forced to…” he drew in a deep, shaky, breath. “I oversaw the interrogations.”

From the pained look in Mycroft’s red-rimmed eyes, he understood what he meant be _oversaw_. Mycroft must have seen everything: must have seen his baby brother be tortured, must have heard his screams. Greg shuddered at the thought and held Mycroft closer to him.

“It’s alright,” Greg whispered into his ear, rubbing his hand gently in circles against Mycroft’s back. “Sherlock is safe. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

Suddenly, Mycroft did something Greg had never seen him do.

He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

His lover was officially suffering a mental breakdown.

“Myc,” he murmured, pulling his partner into him so that Mycroft could bury his head in his chest. “You did what you needed to do. You and Sherlock both did, and I owe you my life for it. Whatever you had to do, I know Sherlock understands. He’s strong, Myc, so strong. You both are.”

But Mycroft just let out another choked sob, and Greg realised that all he could do was hold him and let him cry. Something told him Mycroft was long overdue for a good cry. God knows if he had his job he would never manage. He always thought he had it rough, dealing with victims and their families; confronting serial killers and putting his life at risk every day. Then he met Mycroft, and although his partner couldn’t tell him much more than the fact that he worked for the British secret service, he knew the decisions he made on a daily basis affected the future of their entire country.

 _That_ was stressful enough.

But having his brother involved?

Greg couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard that must be to deal with, so he didn’t pretend to know what to say to him. He just kept holding him and let Mycroft do all the talking he needed to.

“He was deprived of sleep and proper meals,” Mycroft admitted, his voice completely broken. “He was beaten with crowbars. It was always…it was always his back. They made videos to use as…as bargaining chips. They thought they were sending them to MI-6 to get to me. They wanted to make it look as though…as though he were being treated alright so they didn’t show his face.”

Trembling, Mycroft grasped his pyjamas in his hands and drew in a deep breath in order to fight letting out another sob.

“He looked so fragile. It was like…it felt like…it felt like I deserved it. I’ve failed him, Gregory. Sherlock he…I let him get addicted to drugs. I let him be hunted down by Moriarty. I couldn’t stop any of it.

“You know the drugs were his own doing,” Greg offered, though he knew it didn’t help. “We did all we could, and you did all you could. Sherlock is a great man, Myc.”

His lover let out the softest of sobs, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Seeing Mycroft Holmes cry was like seeing his entire world being shattered. Nothing felt _right_ anymore. He didn’t understand any of it. How could any of this be happening?

“I’ll never be able to un-see it,” Mycroft whispered. “I’ll never be able to un-hear it. Sherlock is going on, pretending as best as he can like it never happened, but I can’t. I’m not…I’m not okay, Gregory, I’m not.”

Mycroft broke into sobs yet again, and Greg wished he could fly to Serbia at that moment and murder everyone responsible for his lover’s despair.

“Is there someone you’re talking to?” Greg asked quietly. He hated to say it, but he couldn’t pretend like he was qualified to deal with this. He could hold Mycroft and be there for him as much as possible, but as much as he hated to admit it he knew his partner should be seeing a professional. Mycroft and Sherlock both should.

Letting out a sigh, Mycroft finally seemed to be able to control his breathing again.

“I have been offered one,” he admitted, “but no therapist could ever understand what Sherlock and I have been through.”

“Of course not,” Greg muttered, realising his stupidity. “You know you can talk to me though, yeah? You’re beautiful, Myc, and you’re brilliant. You’ll get through this. I know it’s hard. I know you feel sick inside. I know dealing with Sherlock right now must be impossible, but you can do this. You’ll get through it, and at the end of the day you’ve just gotta realise that…you’ve gotta realise that Sherlock’s safe. We’re all safe, and somehow we’re going to be able to realise that we can move on from this. We’ve got a future together, you and I. We’re going to be okay, Myc. It’s going to all be okay.”

His lover shook in his arms, but at last Mycroft let out a shaky sigh and pulled himself away from Greg’s body.

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft mumbled. He wiped at the tears on his cheeks, and Greg couldn’t help but to offer him a small smile. He decided it was actually reassuring, seeing Mycroft give in to these most human of moments. His lips brushed Greg’s for a brief moment, and he lifted his own fingers to brush away the last of Mycroft’s tears. “I suppose I needed that.”

“You suppose right.”

Greg kissed him again, and he reached back for the flannel and wet it with warm water once again. His lover shook as he draped it across his forehead.

“You should see him, though,” Mycroft whispered. His face was still so pale it was almost grey. “His back, Gregory…and he feels like he can’t talk to John about it. He won’t talk to me. I feel like I have him back and we’ve succeeded, but at the same time we’ve lost so much.”

All he could do was continue to wipe his finger against Mycroft’s cheek and offer him a sad half-smile.

“I’m here, you know, whenever,” Greg said. “You don’t have to be a slave to your nightmares, and you don’t have to live in the past. I love you, Myc, and I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

“Thank you, Gregory,” Mycroft said again.

The smallest of smiles crept across his face and he nodded, signaling that he understood.

“Let’s go back to bed, yeah?” Greg offered.

“I feel ill,” Mycroft finally admitted as he sat with his back against the tub. “I’m afraid I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

“Come on, love,” Greg said as he placed his arms around Mycroft’s waist to help him sit up. “A good night’s sleep is what you need. You can get through this; you just have to believe in yourself again.”

Mycroft just let out a grunt as Greg helped him get to his feet. He swayed on his feet a bit but managed to lean against him as they made their way back into the bedroom. Once Mycroft was seated on the bed, Greg pulled the duvet back so his lover could climb underneath. He climbed into bed after his partner, but Mycroft just turned away from him, hugging his pillow like a child.

“PTSD,” Greg whispered, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist.

“What?” Mycroft shot, as though it offended him that Greg would suggest such a thing. “No, I don’t-"

“Stop feeling ashamed,” Greg ordered softly. “You and Sherlock have both been through a trauma.”

“Sherlock more than-"

“No, stop it Myc,” he sighed. “You’re not Superman, alright?”

At last Mycroft turned his face around to stare at him, utterly lost. Greg sighed again.

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Mycroft demanded.

“Nothing, bad reference,” Greg mumbled. “It’s just…you’re human. You’ve got to have nights like this where you just let it all out.”

“I’d rather just forget everything,” Mycroft whispered.

Greg planted a soft kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Just know that I love you,” he said quietly.

A sleepy smile crossed Mycroft’s face as he murmured, so quietly that Greg could barely hear him:

“Not as much as I love you.”

“You want to bet?” Greg challenged, kissing his neck again.

Greg felt a heat rise through his body as Mycroft’s eyes roamed him up and down. There was a flicker of arousal, but instead of starting anything Mycroft simply kissed his forehead.

“Rain check,” Mycroft murmured.

He buried his head against Greg’s shoulder, and after a few deep breaths his lover closed his eyes.

“Go to sleep, love,” he breathed. “I’m right here, just go to sleep.”

“I just need the nightmares to stop,” came the whispered plea from his partner.

His heart tore into two, but in moments Mycroft was once again fast to sleep. Against his own advice, Greg didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. He was too busy holding Mycroft in his arms and imagining what was going on inside that head of his. After that night he would never again see Mycroft so child-like, so helpless and lost. After that night Mycroft had a tighter control on his emotions, and he imagined his partner would never forgive himself for breaking down like that.

But after that night they did begin talking again, really talking. Greg began to forgive Mycroft more and more each day for those years of lies and he began to respect him more and more. He wasn’t sure if he himself would have had the strength to break down like that- and in the coming days, more often than not, he wished he did.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Mycroft as someone's who has probably been on the edge of a breakdown their whole life- until that moment when they finally give in. Thank you for reading! I would love to know what you thought about it.


End file.
